


Panic

by justscribblingalong



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justscribblingalong/pseuds/justscribblingalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, doing nothing if not just waiting to get tired enough to fall asleep when he gets the call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever posting a fanfiction of mine. I'm a fan of Sterek, and seeing as Derek has never helped Stiles through a panic attack on the show I decided to take matters into my own hands. The descriptions of the panic attack are taken by how Stiles acts through them on the show and from personal experience. I will be posting Stiles' side of the events in the next few days. Any feedback or criticism is always welcome. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or any of the plot points created in the Teen Wolf verse by Jeff Davis.

It's 1am. Derek is sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, doing nothing if not just waiting to get tired enough to fall asleep when he gets the call. His phone rings, the screen lighting up with Stiles’ name, and he answers it, a smile already forming on his face at the prospect of talking to his boyfriend.

“Hey.” He waits for a reply but soon realizes that all he’s going to get is the sound of Stiles’ heavy breathing. Normally, this sort of call would result in activity of the sexual kind, but Stiles’ breathing isn’t that of a lustful teenager tonight – each breath comes quickly and sounds strained, bordering on hyperventilation.

“Stiles.” Derek is already off of the bed, haphazardly tying his shoes, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Images of werewolves and hunters, anything, taking hold of Stiles and hurting him flashes through his mind. “Stiles, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“I, uh.” Stiles struggles to find words for a few more seconds before he continues. “It’s, um - " 

"Stiles, you need to tell me what's happening right now."

"I got in an accident.”

_Fuck. _That's worse to Derek, really. A car accident is something so inherently human, something that can so easily _break _Stiles. Derek races out of his bedroom, frantically searching for his keys. “Where are you?”____

“I was just – ” His breathing picks up even more and Derek can practically smell the panic coming off of him through the phone. “I was driving to – I wanted to surprise you and it was dark and there was a deer and I swerved and – ” Derek almost interjects to tell him to just calm down, but, “Derek, I can’t – I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I - " The strangled noise Stiles makes as he breaks off and gasps for air is physically painful for Derek to hear. "I can't fucking _breathe _, Derek."__

“Stiles, listen to me,” Derek says as evenly as possible as he runs down the stairs of his apartment building, hurrying out to the parking lot where his Camaro is waiting, “Try and steady your breathing and tell me where you are so I can come and help you. Breathe. In and out, okay?”

Almost a full minute later, after Stiles’ breathing has slowed, not much but enough for him to talk, he stutters out, “I’m at the – you know where the road curves, like that really sharp – ” A pause as he breathes, “The really sharp curve, near the preserve? I just, I’m there, off of the road, I – I’m still in my car, there’s – ”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk anymore.” Derek is getting into his car. He’d rather run there, it’d be faster, but he figures he’ll have to drive Stiles after he’s calmed him down. “Focus on your breathing, okay?”

“Okay.” Derek listens to Stiles’ halted breaths, each one evidently taking a great deal of effort. Stiles has told him that he used to get panic attacks, and that he’s had one or two since all of “the werewolf shit,” as he calls it, started happening, but Derek has yet to be there when Stiles experiences one. After a minute of driving and a particularly painful sounding whimper from Stiles, Derek realizes that he forgot one very important question.

“Stiles, are you hurt?” 

The lack of answer is answer enough. "Stiles, just tell me, please.” Still nothing. “Do I need to call an ambulance?"

This time an answer is instantaneous and Derek can hear Stiles' heartbeat through the phone, sky-rocketing as he panics. "No no no, please, Derek, I - " He pauses for breath, "It's not that bad, I'm okay, I just need - " He chokes off and Derek wishes he could take back the question, anything to stop Stiles from crying like this. "I need you here, please, no hospitals, just come here, please, okay? Derek, please, I need you - " Stiles voice reaches a level of hysteria as he cries, "You can't take me to a hospital, Derek, please - "

"Okay, okay, Stiles, I'm not going to call an ambulance, but I need you to breathe, okay?"

Stiles doesn't say anything after, his breathing, although ragged, continuing.

The rest of the drive is torturous. It takes less than ten minutes, but between hearing Stiles' laboured breaths and imagining what state he's going to find him in, Derek wonders if he’s about to have a panic attack himself. When he can finally see the Jeep in the distance - well, Derek supposes it could look worse. Thank God Stiles drives a sturdy car. It's planted between some trees on the side of the road and the state of the car would suggest that it had ricocheted between them before coming to a stop. Derek parks and sprints to the driver's side, where the window has been shattered – Derek winces, realizing that the window probably broke as a result of Stiles’ head smashing against it – and Stiles sits, still in the midst of his panic attack and with blood on him, primarily, it seems, from his nose and a gash on his arm.

"Stiles." It takes Stiles a moment but when he looks to his left and sees Derek finally there, staring at him, just _there, _the reaction is immediate. His face crumples and he leans toward the window, trying to get closer even though he’s shaking so badly he can barely move.__

Derek takes that as his cue to get Stiles out of the car and deftly opens the door, unbuckling Stiles’ seatbelt and pulling him into his arms, carefully settling onto the pavement next to the car. Stiles is trembling, sobbing, trying to breathe, and all Derek can do is hold him and whisper to him softly, “It’s okay, I’m here now, you’re going to be okay, just breathe,” like a mantra, slowly rubbing circles into his back without jostling him too much, not sure where all of his injuries are.

"It happened so fast, and I just - I felt like such an idiot, like, I've fought against every supernatural creature in the book and the one thing that kills me - " Stiles' heartbeat kicks up again at the prospect of what was imminent death, and more tears stream down his face. "I don't want to die, and everything hurt and I - I _couldn't get out _\- "__

"Stiles, listen to me." Stiles stops rambling at Derek's firm tone, looking up from where his head was resting on Derek's shoulder to meet his eyes. "You didn't die, you're right here with me. You're going to be safe for a very long time if I can help it. There's nothing you need to be afraid of right now. Just breathe."

Stiles nods his head and settles it back against Derek's shoulder, placing his palm against Derek's chest to feel his heartbeat, trying to match his breathing to the rise and fall he feels there. After a while, once his breathing is back to some semblance of normalcy and the tears have stopped, Stiles says, "I'm sorry I wouldn't let you call an ambulance. Just, that's where people go when it's serious, you know? Like my mom dying, and when Lydia was in the hospital, and - "

"I get it, don't worry. But you need to tell me where you're hurt."

"Well, uh," Stiles moves his limbs a bit, stretching in Derek's lap so that he can feel the way his body moves. "I don’t think anything's broken. I hit my face on the steering wheel - ergo bloody nose - and I have a bunch of cuts from the glass shattering, and I'll probably be bruised as hell but I think I'm okay."

"Stiles, tell me how that window broke."

"Uh, car accident, Derek, duh."

"Did it happen when your head knocked against it?"

Stiles takes a deep breath, sighing as he settles further into Derek's arms, resting his head and leaving all of his weight for Derek to support. "Yeah, okay, you got me. I hit my head pretty hard and shattered some glass and I probably have a slight concussion. That's what the nausea and fatigue I'm feeling at the moment would suggest anyway."

"So it might be a good idea to get your head checked out - "

"Nope, nope, no. My head gets knocked around all of the time at lacrosse, this is nothing different. All I need is someone to bandage me up and keep an eye on me tonight. What do you say, Derek?" Stiles looks up at Derek with a smirk, quirking an eyebrow. "Wanna play doctor?"

Derek almost sighs in relief that Stiles is back to acting like his usual self, but instead he just rolls his eyes and picks himself and Stiles up off of the pavement, carrying Stiles over to his car and placing him in the passenger seat of the Camaro. After buckling him in, Derek circles around to enter the driver's seat and says, "Fine, I'll take care of you at my place, but if your head still feels bad in a day or two we're getting it checked out." 

Stiles ignores that, and gestures toward his Jeep. "What are we doing about that?"

"We'll call someone in the morning. It's off the road so it won't be in anyone's way until then.”

"True, true." Stiles looks over at Derek as he's starting the car, suddenly seeming vulnerable again, unsure. "Hey."

Derek turns to face Stiles fully. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For coming. And helping me with the whole, y'know, panic attack thing. I'm sorry I freaked out like that. It just, it happened, and I - " 

"You're welcome." Derek cuts him off. He leans across the centre console and kisses Stiles, softly, sweetly. "And you have nothing to be sorry for."

Stiles presses forward one more time, humming against Derek's lips. "Mmm, okay. Now, take me home, Sourwolf.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles opens his eyes to see the crushed metal of his Jeep’s hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the events of chapter 1 from Stiles' perspective. Again, feedback and criticism is definitely welcome, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or any of the plot points created in the Teen Wolf verse by Jeff Davis.

It’s 1am. Stiles opens his eyes to see the crushed metal of his Jeep’s hood, the empty frames where his driver’s side window and windshield used to be, feels blood flowing from his nose and pain in his arms where – _shit, is that?_ – glass has cut him.

There’d been a deer. He was driving to Derek’s place and there was a deer and he swerved because, God, he couldn’t kill a _deer_ , and then he’d hit a tree and his head had bounced around like a bobble-head’s and _oh my God, I’m going to throw up._

He tries to open the door but it won’t budge – the metal must have been crushed in a way to make it less easy to open, especially by weak, injured human arms. He hits his arms against it several times, crying out as it makes the cuts on his arms sting in protest. Swallowing down vomit, he reaches for his phone with shaking hands. His breathing is quickening and he knows he has to call someone before he’s launched into a full-blown panic attack and the only person he can think of to call is _Derek Derek Derek Derek Derek Derek_ –

“Hey.”

Stiles feels relief course through him at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, but it’s hard to find enough air to say what he has to say. He starts to breathe faster into the phone once he realizes he can’t talk, and this is a mistake as Derek starts to panic too. “Stiles.” Stiles hears rushing movement on the other end of the line. “Stiles, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Stiles takes as deep of a breath as he can manage and – “I, uh.” Shit, even that was hard to say. “It’s, um – ”

“Stiles, you need to tell me what’s happening right now.” Derek sounds so worried and Stiles hates himself for making him feel like this, for calling him in the middle of the night sounding like he’s dying, so he blurts out,

“I got in an accident.”

Stiles hears Derek’s sharp inhale of breath and his heart breaks that he’s putting Derek through this, and the thought of making someone else panic makes him panic more, and then he can’t really think anymore because all he’s thinking about is forcing air into his lungs.

“Where are you?”

He knows Derek’s asked him something but he isn’t really sure what and he starts rambling about anything he can think of to help the situation. “I was just – I was driving to – ” Stiles closes his eyes, head falling back against the headrest. “I wanted to surprise you and it was dark and there was a deer and I swerved and – ” He squeezes his eyelids together, hand that isn’t occupied by his cell phone closing into a tight fist and feels his throat constricting as he tries to fight back the panic attack. “Derek, I can’t – I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I - " He breaks off, an absolutely strangled sound leaving his throat as he tries to bring oxygen into his body. "I can't fucking _breathe_ , Derek."

“Stiles, listen to me.” Stiles manages to hear Derek faintly through his panic. “Try and steady your breathing and tell me where you are so I can come and help you. Breathe. In and out, okay?”

_Okay_ , Stiles thinks, _in and out in and out in and out_. After what feels like forever, his breathing has finally slowed enough that he can at least talk, so he says, “I’m at the – you know where the road curves, like that really sharp – ” _In and out._ “The really sharp curve, near the preserve? I just, I’m there, off the road, I – I’m still in my car, there’s – ”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk anymore. Focus on your breathing, okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles hears Derek starting his car and feels relief start to seep through him. The idea of Derek being with him soon is enough to calm him down a bit, though his breath is still coming much too fast. _In and out in and out in and out._ One particularly sharp breath causes a pain in his side, probably bruises to his ribs from the crash, and he cries out at the unexpected spark of pain.

“Stiles, are you hurt?”

Stiles contemplates how to answer that. He doesn’t think anything is seriously injured, but he’s obviously _hurt_ –

“Stiles, just tell me.”

– but if he tells Derek that he’s hurt he might call an –

“Do I need to call an ambulance?”

The panic is immediate, back to full-force if not worse than before. He can physically feel his heart beating against his chest and he’s once again gasping for air at the thought of being admitted into a hospital, at the thought of being hurt enough to have to go to _in and out in and out hospital hospital mom mom mom mom mom_ , “No no no, please, Derek, I – It’s not that bad, I’m okay, I just need – ” _mom mom mom mom dead dead dead dead dead dead_ , “I need you here, please, no hospitals, just come here, please, okay? Derek, please, I need you – you can’t take me to a hospital, Derek, please – ” He breaks off, choking on his own breath, tears streaming down his face as he feels a fear consuming him that he’d long forgotten. 

"Okay, okay, Stiles, I'm not going to call an ambulance, but I need you to breathe, okay?"

Stiles chooses not to answer, instead trying to put all of his energy into breathing, into making sure he is here and staying alive. His gaze lands on a knob on the tree in front of him and he keeps his eyes there as he breathes _in and out in and out in and out._ He’s so far gone into focusing on his breath that he doesn’t realize Derek’s there until he hears him call his name.

“Stiles.” He turns his head to the left and sees Derek – God, his _beautiful, alive Derek_ – eyebrows knit together in concern, looking at him, _here_ , and breaks. He falls toward the window, trying to get as close as he can to Derek, and beginning to cry again at the prospect of being safe.

Derek opens the stuck door with an inhuman strength and quickly removes Stiles from the wreckage. The action of being pulled into Derek’s arm is so familiar to Stiles that he just starts to sob harder, head falling against Derek’s shoulder, breath less panicked but just as uneasy, trembling with pained limbs in Derek’s lap. He’s barely registering what Derek’s saying – encouragement, he’s sure – but he can feel his arms around him, his hands rubbing his back, and that’s enough.

"It happened so fast, and I just - I felt like such an idiot, like, I've fought against every supernatural creature in the book and the one thing that kills me – I don't want to die, and everything hurt and I - I _couldn't get out_ \- "

“Stiles, listen to me.” Stiles looks up into his eyes and is shocked to see the amount of sincerity and determination there, as well as a few tears of his own that Stiles doubts he’s noticed. "You didn't die, you're right here with me. You're going to be safe for a very long time if I can help it. There's nothing you need to be afraid of right now. Just breathe."

Stiles nods, head going back to its place on Derek’s shoulder. His hand reaches up until it can feel Derek’s heartbeat through his thin shirt, moving with a rise and fall that Stiles tries to match his own chest to. "I'm sorry I wouldn't let you call an ambulance. Just, that's where people go when it's serious, you know? Like my mom dying, and when Lydia was in the hospital, and - "

"I get it, don't worry. But you need to tell me where you're hurt."

Stiles doesn’t even know the answer to that question. “Well, uh.” He wiggles around, feeling for any broken bones. “"I don’t think anything's broken. I hit my face on the steering wheel - ergo bloody nose - and I have a bunch of cuts from the glass shattering, and I'll probably be bruised as hell but I think I'm okay."

Derek looks at him, eyebrows raised in suspicion. “Stiles, tell me how that window broke.”

Stiles can’t believe he’s being asked such a redundant question. “Uh, car accident, Derek, duh.”

“Did it happen when your head knocked against it?”

Ah. So that’s what it’s about. Stiles sighs, sinking into Derek’s embrace and explaining. "Yeah, okay, you got me. I hit my head pretty hard and shattered some glass and I probably have a slight concussion. That's what the nausea and fatigue I'm feeling at the moment would suggest anyway."

“So it might be a good idea to get your head checked out – ”

Stiles freezes. "Nope, nope, no. My head gets knocked around all of the time at lacrosse, this is nothing different. All I need is someone to bandage me up and keep an eye on me tonight. What do you say, Derek?" Stiles smirks at Derek, looking up at him coyly. “Wanna play doctor?”

Derek rolls his eyes and picks Stiles up, who weakly protests at the movement before settling into Derek’s arms. Stiles closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy being taken care of. He feels himself being lowered onto a seat, a seatbelt being clicked into place over him. He hears Derek sit in the seat next to him and say, “Fine, I'll take care of you at my place, but if your head still feels bad in a day or two we're getting it checked out." 

_Yeah, right_ , Stiles thinks, and changes the subject by pointing at the crushed metal of the Jeep. “What are we doing about that?”

"We'll call someone in the morning. It's off the road so it won't be in anyone's way until then.”

“True, true.” Stiles thinks about everything he’s put Derek through tonight, the late-night call, the panic, calming him down. He turns fully to face Derek. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

"Thank you. For coming. And helping me with the whole, y'know, panic attack thing. I'm sorry I freaked out like that. It just, it happened, and I - "

Derek cuts Stiles off with a, “You’re welcome,” and a kiss, effectively silencing him. After pulling away, he says, “And you have nothing to be sorry for.”

Stiles, finally feeling safe and content, presses forward to meet Derek’s lips once more. “Mmm, okay. Now, take me home, Sourwolf.”


End file.
